


The Guardian

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst and Smut, Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Bodyguard, Bodyguard AU, Car Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Language, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Shooting Guns, Smut, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-20 19:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: Steve came home from the war to a wife that could not deal with the emotionally, mentally, and physically changed man before her. Dealing with it the only way he knew how, Steve buried himself in his work. After saving hundreds of lives in one heroic act, Steve finds himself put on bodyguard duty. Also known as a glorified babysitter.It wasn’t easy being the daughter of insanely rich and successful businessman, Phil Coulson. After multiple death threats, your overbearing, worries-too-much father decides you need a bodyguard.





	1. Reassignment

* * *

Steve’s back was straight, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, chin raised, eyes drilling into a spot on the wall above his commanding officer’s head. He had just been informed that due to his heroic actions the previous Friday, all of his current cases would be transferred to other officers while he went on protective duty.

His charge was Y/N Coulson, and apparently, her life was in danger. Her father, Phil, was a successful businessman, perhaps too successful for his own good. Success brought enemies knocking on the door, and with old man Coulson refusing to cooperate, to bend to his enemy’s whims, his daughter had started receiving threats of all kinds.

Everything Steve had heard about Y/N made him cringe. She was a spoiled rich kid that partied all night and slept all day. She was on the cover of every tabloid magazine in New York, drinking, driving while intoxicated, getting arrested, going to rehab. There was even a quickie wedding in Vegas, followed by an annulment less than a month later; all while Steve was overseas, fighting a war that claimed the lives of his best friends, his brothers. In fact, he would have died if it hadn’t been for Bucky -

“Did you hear me, Rogers?” Pepper demanded to know, yanking Steve from his thoughts.

“Yes, ma’am,” he ground out, Irish accent thick on his tongue. “When do I start, ma’am?”

“Tomorrow morning you will report to Coulson Industries,” she informed him. “Seven am, sharp.”

Steve dipped his chin in confirmation. “Yes, ma’am.” With his molars grinding, Steve turned, and walked across the room.

“And Steve,” Pepper murmured as Steve’s hand fell to the door handle. “Act as if you actually care about her safety.”

“Will do, ma’am,” he said with a tight smile.

“C’mon,” Steve grit out, a hand raking through his hair as the line continued to ring.

Sharon had never let it ring that long before. It had either been sent to voicemail or she had disconnected the call long before. Then again, Sharon had changed in the last eighteen months since Steve had come home.

“Answer the fuckin’ phone.”

Half a ring later, her breathy voice greeted him. “Steve? Wha- what time is it?”

“Shit, love,” he muttered, the digital numbers on the clock catching his attention. “It’s late. I’m sorry, doll.”

“What do you want, Steve?” Sharon huffed, irritation replacing the sleep in her voice.

“Nothin’,” Steve denied a little too quickly for his own good. “I just wanted to talk.”

Sharon gave a disappointed groan. “It’s late, Steve.”

“You don’t think I know that? I just apologized for it,” he snapped, his fingers tightening around the bottle of beer on his thigh. “I just want to talk is all. Can’t we talk?”

“It’s two in the morning,” she argued through her teeth.

“So? We used to stay up all night talking,” Steve remembered bitterly.

Sharon was shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, well, we were young and dumb,” she scoffed. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“No, Sharon,” he ground out. “Please don’t hang up on me. I just want to talk.”

“You’re drunk,” Sharon sighed.

Steve slid the beer bottle onto the counter. “Am not.”

“I didn’t say you were drinking. I said you’re drunk.”

“I am not,” Steve said a little louder than before. “If I were drunk, I wouldn’t be callin’. I’d be passed out in your bed where I belong.”

Sharon let out a heavy breath. “We’ve talked about this, Steve. We can’t… I don’t want -”

“To be with your husband,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I got that bit from the delivery boy you sent.”

“I’m not filing for divorce,” she groaned. “It’s just a -”

“Separation,” Steve scoffed loudly. “Still means you don’t want to be with me. Why not? Can’t you explain it to me?”

“I’m hanging up the phone,” she announced. “Don’t call back or I will call the police.”

Steve’s already-boiling blood surged through him even faster. “I am the police, love.”

“Are you.. is that a  _threat_?”

“No, no,” he stammered. “That’s not what I meant at all, love. I would never abuse my power like that.”

“Goodnight, Steven,” she bit out before disconnecting the call.

“Just wanted to talk,” Steve hollered before launching the phone across the room, sending it into the wall. Bits of glass and plastic littered the floor, which Steve begrudgingly cleaned up, after he finished his beer.

He sat down on the couch, another beer in his hands, his mind whirling around like a tornado. God, he just wanted to go home and be with his wife. Why couldn’t he do that? Why wouldn’t she  _let_  him come home?!

Shaking his head, he scoffed irritatedly at himself. He knew why, he just couldn’t believe it.

Steve came home from a war that changed him, and not just physically. He had seen things nobody should ever see, heard things no one should ever hear. His brothers in arms had been blown apart less than ten feet from him, they had been taken prisoner and tortured, videos sent as proof and demands shouted in a language Steve didn’t know. He had seen the life drain from their eyes, he had heard their cries for mercy, and if he closed his eyes, he could still hear every single one of them. Steve was fucked in the head, and Sharon couldn’t handle it.

“For better or worse, my ass,” Steve slurred after finishing off his second six pack of beer.

He stumbled into the bedroom where he fell face first onto the bed and started snoring less than five seconds later.


	2. Setting boundaries

“God, dad,” you grumbled. “Why can’t you just listen to me? I don’t need a damn babysitter! I’m a grown ass woman. I can take care of myself.”

Phil was sitting behind his desk and shaking his head. “You seem to forget the amount of death threats that have been sent to you, Y/N.” The pinched expression on his face meant he was done arguing with you about it.

“They’re empty threats. Nothing more,” you said when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Phil instructed as he stood, fastening the buttons on his suit jacket.

“I apologize for interrupting, sir,” the new arrival apologized gruffly, closing the door behind him.

Your father was wearing his business only smile as he stood in front of the man whose name you didn’t yet know. “No apologies necessary. You must be Steve Rogers.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve responded, shaking Phil’s hand.

Phil started chuckling. “I like you already.”

Steve gave a tight-lipped smile in return, unease rolling off of him in waves.

“Steve, this is my daughter, Y/N,” your father said, motioning toward you as you approached the duo.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Steve greeted you flatly, a soft Irish lilt to his voice, his azure eyes sharp and attentive as they roamed over you in a purely professional matter.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. “Call me by my first name,” you instructed coolly.

“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t do that,” Steve insisted, the previously mentioned accent gaining momentum.

“Don’t tell the man how to do his job,” Phil chastised.

“I’m not telling him how to do his job, I just don’t like -”

Phil cut a glare at you that made the words die on the tip of your tongue. “I assume you’ve been brought up to date, Steve?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve confirmed, eyes lingering on you for a moment before landing on those of Phil. “There are a few questions I have, if that’s alright.”

“Absolutely. Fire away, as it were,” Phil chuckled at his own joke, one that made you roll your eyes again.

Steve cleared his throat at the flare of awkwardness in the room, emanating from Y/N. “I assume all other members of security have been thoroughly vetted?”

“They have,” Phil confirmed. He strolled over to a standing filing cabinet, unlocked the top drawer, and opened it, pulling out three very thick folders, which he then handed to Steve. “Please feel free to look them over. If you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

After accepting the files and tucking them under his arm, Steve didn’t wait to ask his next question. “Based on the nature of the threats, I assume ‘round the clock service will be required. Where will I be staying?”

“Twenty-four hours a day, that is correct,” Phil confirmed.

“Dad, you can’t be serious,” you groaned, arms crossed under your chest.

Phil went on as if he hadn’t heard you. “I have rented an entire floor of [ **The William Vale**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.thewilliamvale.com%2F%3F_ga%3D2.124486281.2087879484.1542032674-409044183.1542032674&t=NjU3OTU1MDJmNTViOGVmOWIyYWQ5MTUzNmExNzIwMmI5Y2I5MTk4NiwxYzRRRE9lRA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180047809639%2Fthe-guardian-setting-boundaries&m=1).”

“For how long, sir?”

“As long as necessary, Steve,” Phile answered. “Now, if there is nothing else…”

Steve shook his head as Phil’s voice drifted off. “No, sir.”

You should have known better than to try and break into the conversation. “I have someth-”

“That’s good to hear.” Phil shook Steve’s hand once more before showing him to the door. “I’ve got a full day of meetings ahead of me. I expect a full report on how the first day went.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed, his eyes quickly finding you. “Are you coming, ma’am?”

Gritting your teeth, you grabbed your bag and stormed over to your father. “Have a good day,” you said before brushing a kiss to his cheek. You might have been unbelievably pissed off at him, but the man was still your father.

You were sitting in the backseat of the luxury vehicle, trying to focus on the task at hand; composing a speech to give at an upcoming fundraiser, but your mind was focused on the man in the passenger seat directly in front of you.

When you heard you were getting a bodyguard, you had expected someone middle-aged, soft around the middle, maybe even losing his hair, anyone other than Steve Rogers. He had a head full of dirty blond hair, eyes that could probably drill through cement if he stared hard enough at it, a jaw that flexed in a hypnotizing manner. The man’s shoulders were wide enough that he had to twist before walking through an open door, and you were sure you could hear the seams of his jacket and shirt screaming for help whenever he moved.

Nope, you couldn’t do that; notice the rough beauty of your new bodyguard. Besides, you hated having him around. You didn’t need him, you could go about your days and nights without having someone there at all times. Fucking babysitter.

His eyes met yours in the rearview mirror. “Ma’am, is everything alright?”

Shit, you hadn’t realized you were staring. “Everything’s fine, Steve. I’m just anxious to get to the office.”

Your office was across town, almost as far away from Coulson Industries as you could get without crossing the river. It was a non-profit that catered to the homeless. It wasn’t a shelter, though you had plans for the ground to break on one the following spring, but the center was a safe place, a place they could take a hot shower, get a haircut, find some clean clothes, toiletries, personal items that normal people wouldn’t think to donate, wash whatever items of clothing they wanted to keep. While it wasn’t considered a shelter, there was a room in the back full of beds and cribs. Overnight stays were legally frowned upon, but naps and times of rest were not. You knew you were toeing a line, but you didn’t care. These people and their families were suffering. If no one was going to help them, you would do everything in your power to step up.

Steve nodded before giving your driver instructions. “Take Park.”

“No,” you immediately disagreed. “Pietro has been my driver for the last five years. He knows where he’s going. Stay on the normal route, Pietro.”

“Yes, Y/N,” Pietro acknowledged.

Steve shook his head and repeated his previous instruction. “There’s a forty-five minute delay up ahead, ma’am.”

“You’re not my driver, Steve,” you ground out, rage simmering just below the surface.

He glared at you in the rearview mirror. “No, ma’am, I am not your driver,” he agreed, his accent thicker than before. “I’m your bodyguard, and anyone that is in your father’s employ, will do as I deem fit, as per your father’s instructions… ma’am. Take Park.”

Pietro flipped on the signal and quickly changed lanes, taking the route as directed. He had both hands on the wheel as he pulled off the main road.

Stormy eyes drilled into yours as if daring you to say another word. When you didn’t, he turned his attention to the passing scenery, watching for any kind of danger. Although, you didn’t understand how he could possibly see anything, what with Pietro cruising at a swift seventy miles per hour.

Thirty minutes later, Steve was escorting you through the building, insisting that he go through every door first and do a sweep of the room before allowing you to enter. By the time you got to your office, you didn’t really care if there was some kind of threat behind the door. You just wanted to get in and sit down behind your desk and get some goddamn work done!

Steve had just emerged from the bathroom when you stormed in. “I didn’t give you the all clear, ma’am,” he said tiredly.

You huffed in irritation as you hung up your [ **jacket and scarf**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi-h1.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F74%2F62%2F5e%2F74625efd3af1bfe3ac181050e10fc0eb.jpg&t=OTUxNzA1NjZhMWYwYjM4YjQzNjAyZjNkNDk1NDI0NGY2ZGMwMDAyZSwxYzRRRE9lRA%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180047809639%2Fthe-guardian-setting-boundaries&m=1). “Believe it or not, I have a deadline to meet today. The time wasted on clearing each and every room I pass through -”

“Is time that you’re not dead,” Steve growled. “Ma’am.”

“Look, you’ve got a job to do, I get it. But, you need to understand that I also have a job to do,” you informed him flatly. You pulled out the notebook and files from your bag with one hand, and flipped on your laptop with the other, your eyes already taking in a plethora of information.

Steve stood there, hands clasped behind his back, his jaw flexing. “I’ll be outside if you need me, ma’am.” His accent was heavier than before, and it made you wonder just how angry he would have to be to slip into full Irish.

After he left your office, Steve found a spot in the center of the large room, and stood there, his back to the wall, his eyes taking in everything that was happening around him, including you inside of your office, clearly visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. You fought down the urge to draw the blinds, to hide from his prying eyes. You had never once drawn them before, having told the employees, volunteers, and those seeking help that you were available at all times, no matter what.

However, with Steve standing guard and his piercing gaze taking in every inch of everything you were doing, following you whenever you left your office, no matter where you were going, it started to make the back of your neck crawl.

God, this whole thing was going to take some getting used to.


	3. Establishing Command

From the moment Steve laid eyes on Y/N he knew she was going to be difficult. His prior judgements based on her rebellious years appeared to be accurate, given the arguments she put up about being assigned a bodyguard.

_Trust me, doll. I don’t want to be here either._

Even in the car, she was as stubborn as a mule. Steve was doing his job by telling Pietro to take a different route, and the woman damn near bit his head off.

“Pietro has been my driver for the last five years. He knows where he’s going. Stay on the normal route, Pietro.” Her eyes were blazing at him in the rearview mirror.

Steve shook his head and repeated his previous instruction. “There’s a forty-five minute delay up ahead, ma’am.”

“You’re not my driver, Steve.”

He could hear the rage in her voice, simmering, ready to bubble over. “No, ma’am, I am not your driver. I’m your bodyguard, and anyone that is in your father’s employ, will do as I deem fit, as per your father’s instructions… ma’am. Take Park.”

Thankfully, she held her tongue and ceased her arguments, though she continued to glare daggers at him in the mirror. If that was any indication of how every interaction was going to be, Steve was in for a rough ride. He had served his country several times over, almost given his life more times than he could count. Surely he could handle one woman.

Once Y/N’s office was clear and she buried her nose in work, Steve found the perfect spot to see everything and everyone; right next to the reception desk. He kept his back to the wall, hands clasped behind his back - easier to grab his service weapon should the need arise, and a judgemental watch on anyone that entered or exited the room.

The only time he left his post was when Y/N emerged from her office. The bathroom was cleared before she could enter, as was her office upon her return. Y/N was not happy about it, tapping her heeled foot, arms crossed, huffs of irritation blowing out of her, but it was Steve’s job to keep her alive, even if it meant pissing her off.

It was almost eleven by the time you called it a night. You still had a ton of work to get done, but your eyelids were heavy and there was a knot in your neck that prevented you from looking at your computer. You grabbed your bag and shoved some files into it, knowing that you’d be looking at them in bed, your legs drawn up, the files resting against your thighs, and a pen dangling from your fingers.

After wrapping the scarf around your neck and sliding into your coat, you shouldered your bag and headed out of the office. Steve was there to hold the door open for you.

“Are you not locking the door, ma’am?” he asked.

“No, I usually leave it unlocked,” you said without further explanation. You moved to brush past him, but thanks to his much longer legs, he was in front of you in no time, leading the way to the elevator.

Steve punched the button to call for the elevator and stood by your side, waiting for the doors to open. Despite having stood outside your office all day and following you everywhere, Steve didn’t look tired. In fact, he looked ready to face whatever came, even if it meant going toe-to-toe with someone. The thought alone made you chuckle, because you had a feeling that if anyone were to pick a fight with Steve, they’d be on the losing end.

“Somethin’ funny, ma’am?” he asked as the doors opened.

You cleared the laughter from your throat before answering. “Just imagining you in a fight.”

Steve let out a huff of amusement as he pressed the button for the parking garage. “Against who?”

The lack of professionality from Steve shocked you, not enough to deter you from the conversation. “Anyone, really.”

“Why is that, ma’am?”

“You look like you can hold your own,” you admitted.

Steve looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “And then some,” he assured you.

The rest of the short ride down to the garage was silent, filled only at the end when the doors opened. Steve went out first, hand on the butt of the gun on his hip, eyes scanning the large area, alert, wary of the surroundings.

When a car abruptly started and pulled out from a parking spot, the tires squealing against the tar, Steve was standing tall in front of you, an arm looped back to hold you firmly against him, his gun unholstered at his side. The adrenaline that was coursing through you quickly fizzled out when you realized the approaching vehicle was being driven by Pietro.

“Jesus,” you grunted, prying Steve’s hand from your back. “It’s Pietro. You know, my driver.”

“How do you know that?” Steve inquired, tone low and dark.

Despite using every ounce of strength you had, Steve’s hand didn’t budge. “He’s the only one I know that plays that goddamn music. Now, lemme go!”

Steve gave a command as the vehicle slowed and the music was turned off. “Put the vehicle in park and exit with your hands above your head.”

Pietro cut the engine and kicked the door open, his shaking hands emerging from the vehicle first. “Is me, Rogers,” he announced, his accented-voice wavering with fear as he stood.

“Told you,” you seethed as you pushed Steve’s hand away, and you were only able to do so because his grip loosened.

“I apologize, Pietro, ma’am,” Steve said after clearing his throat. “I didn’t recognize the vehicle.”

Pietro rushed around the car to open the back door for you. “Is okay. It happens.”

“No, it does not just  _happen_ ,” you bit out, glaring at Steve before dropping into the car.

Steve took his seat directly in front of you as Pietro ran around the car once again, dropping into his seat behind the wheel.

“To the hotel, Pietro,” Steve ordered calmly.

“Yes, sir.”

With narrowed eyes, you continued to glare at the back of Steve’s head. God, you wanted to smack him. Yeah, okay, you had sort of come to terms with the fact that you had a bodyguard, but that didn’t mean he could just pull a gun on whomever he felt like because he didn’t recognize the damn car.

“Did you say somethin’, ma’am?” Steve wanted to know.

“What? No!” you snapped. Wait,  _had_  you actually said something, or was Steve fucking around?

Steve turned his head to look at you from the corner of his eye. “Really? I swear I heard you say something.” That same borderline-playful tone was adding a soft lilt to his voice he had in the elevator.

“I said I didn’t, Steve,” you huffed, pulling the phone from your bag.

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

It was a quick journey from the office to the hotel, one that was filled with uncomfortable silence and the sounds of you typing out messages on your cell. Pietro had tried making conversation with Steve, but his questions went unanswered as Steve kept a watchful eye on the passing scenery on the way to The William Vale.

Due to the late hour, there were only a handful of people in the lobby, and those people worked at the hotel, even the elevator ride up to the twentieth floor was relatively quiet. Steve stood there like he was a fucking statue, not a single part of him moving, well, besides the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed.

Nope. Stop that right now. You shouldn’t be admiring the Adonis towering over you. With your jaw clenched, you forced yourself to look away, snapping your eyes front and center, glaring at your distorted reflection in the metal doors that were about to open.

Two men in suits identical to Steve’s greeted you with a nod, calling Steve, “Cap’n,” as he walked by. They didn’t follow as that was their post, but their eyes were glued on you until you turned the corner, an update spoken into their comms. More men were standing guard outside your room, one on either side of the door, and another next to the door that you assumed led to Steve’s room.

Steve entered your room first, his steps heavy and determined. The man on your right held out his arm, blocking your access, and shook his head.

“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled. Your feet and back ached, and you had a nagging headache behind your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to take off your shoes and clothes, have a drink, and drop into bed. But you couldn’t do that because of your father.

“Fuck it.” Without waiting for the all clear from Steve, you forced your way into the room and dropped your bag onto the couch.

Steve emerged from the bedroom with a scowl on his brow. “What do you think you’re doin’, ma’am?”

“What’s it look like?” you sassed as you removed the shoes on your feet.

 _If looks could kill_ , was the first thought that popped into your mind when you caught the way he was glaring at you.

“I haven’t cleared it yet, ma’am,” Steve said coolly, his jaw clenching in a hypnotizing manner.

“I don’t care,” you stated simply as you crossed the room and filled a glass with some whiskey. It wasn’t normally your drink of choice, but it got the job done in a pinch. “Besides, who’s  _really_  going to be hiding in my bedroom?”

Steve crossed the room in three purposeful strides and towered over you. “It is  _my_  job to keep you alive, ma’am. Now, you don’t have to like that I’m here, but you do need to stop givin’ me shite and respect what I do. No more marchin’ into an uncleared room because your feet ache. You stay back, you stay alive. Got that, ma’am?” he gruffed, accent unbelievably thick, voice gritty, eyes ice-blue.

The glass in your hand was shaking and your throat was thick with something that  _definitely_  had nothing to do with the arousal coursing through you. Absolutely nothing. “I understand, Steve.”

“Good,” he said with a curt nod, and then he was in the bathroom and kitchenette, making sure there were no hidden devices that could harm you or anyone hiding in the cupboards and shower.

“Would you like a drink?” you asked, not waiting for an answer before pouring the amber liquid into a clean glass.

Steve was shaking his head. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

“You don’t drink?” you scoffed in disbelief.

“I didn’t say that, ma’am. I do not want one right now,” he clarified. “Will there be anythin’ else, ma’am?”

You quickly drank the whiskey that had been poured for him as you turned around. “I suppose not,” you answered. “It  _is_  pretty late.”

“That it is, ma’am.” Steve bade you goodnight before leaving the room.

“Night, Mr. Rogers,” you chuckled, pleasantly buzzed and filling up your glass once more before heading to your bedroom. “Mr. Rogers, that’s funny.”

After stripping out of your clothes, bra and panties were next, you noticed that there was a door in the corner, next to your bed. Curious, you strolled over and ran your hand along the expensive and gleaming wood.

“Won’t you be… my neighbor,” you hummed under your breath.

You pressed an ear to the door and caught your bottom lip between your teeth as you strained to hear something, anything. Curiosity had always been one word used to describe you in the past, and much to your father’s chagrin, it was a trait you never outgrew. At this present moment in time, you had no clue what you were expecting to hear. So, when nothing out of the ordinary grabbed your attention, you pushed away from the door and finished ridding your body of clothing, quickly drank the whiskey, and dropped into bed.

Once the door was closed, Steve let out the air he hadn’t realized his lungs had been holding captive. His shoulders and neck ached in a way that had him missing the massages Sharon used to give him. She might have been petite, but she could work out the deepest of knots without breaking a sweat.

God, he missed her.

He removed the comm in his ear before unthreading it from the lining of the jacket - straight down his back and into the left side of his chest where a small mic was fastened to the lapel. Next, he grabbed the small battery pack that was attached to his hip, dropped them onto the table, and plugged in the charger.

With his suit jacket off and draped over the chair, he quickly unbuttoned the white shirt and set it atop the jacket. The four wide velcro straps of the mandatory bulletproof vest were separated loudly before he pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the end of the bed a moment later.

The slim phone was in his hand before he registered what he was doing. No missed calls, no unread text messages, and no new emails. Steve blew out a heavy breath, his thumb hovering over the phone icon in the bottom right corner.

He wanted… needed to talk to Sharon. She had always been able to quiet the constant hum of activity inside of his brain, the activity that had grown worse since his honorable discharge from the army. But the minute he got home, he knew something was off. Only Sharon wouldn’t talk to him. She didn’t even want to see him. In fact, she had divorce papers drawn up the following morning and all but begged Steve to sign. Not that he signed them, fuck that. He wouldn’t give her the fucking satisfaction.

A beer was in his hand, opened, and half gone before he realized that he had called Sharon.

“What do you want, Steve?” came her irritated voice. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” Steve admitted, hating how true it was.

Sharon gave a harsh sounding sigh. “You gotta stop doing this. It’s over.”

“No, it ain’t. You don’t get to kick me out and tell me our marriage is done because you don’t want to deal with the bad,” he ridiculed. “For better or worse, remember?”

“You’ve been drinking.” God, she sounded so disappointed.

Steve rolled his eyes and tossed the can in the trash. “One beer, Sharon. After the day I’ve had, I think one beer is okay.”

“But it’s never one beer with you, Stevie,” Sharon sighed, no doubt pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t call me that,” he ground out. “You lost all rights to call me that when you kicked me out of my own home.”

There was a beat of silence, of Sharon pulling in a deep breath through her nose. “I’m hanging up. Goodnight.”

“No, don’t do -” the call dropped and Steve launched his cell phone across the room. It landed on the bed and bounced twice before falling to the floor.

Despite the fact that he wanted to let loose a scream of frustration and punch something, Steve was also aware of his surroundings. A hotel room that was directly next to Y/N and a handful of men patrolling the halls was not the place to do as he wished. Instead, he pulled out another beer and drained it.


	4. Voluntold

  


With his jaw clenched painfully tight and his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, Steve hovered outside of the room where a group of men were discussing their emotional and physical trauma of fighting in the war. His dear friend and brother-in-arms, Bucky, was currently standing, telling the story of how he lost his arm, of the most traumatizing day of Steve’s life.

“It was July and hot as balls,” Bucky said with this weird chuckle-groan mixture. “Steve and I were on patrol, not really lookin’ for nothin’, just makin’ sure everythin’ was cool, ya know?”

_“I’m tellin’ ya, Buck, somethin’s goin’ on with Sharon,” Steve insisted._

_Bucky was shaking his head, hand on the barrel of his gun squeezing. “Nah, man. She just misses ya, is all.”_

_“She barely said ten words to me on the call earlier.”_

_“Every time you leave for another tour is hard on her, brother,” Bucky explained. “And if we know anything about Sharon, it’s that she internalizes all her shit.”_

_Steve nodded, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”_

_“A’course I’m right,” Bucky grinned, turning around to walk backwards. “When have I ever been wrong?”_

_Something rolled down the dirty and narrow alley. It hit Bucky in the back of the boot, bounced off the wall, and rolled back between his feet all before the two men realized what it was. With a shout, Steve launched himself forward and grabbed Bucky’s arm, yanking his best friend away from the grenade in the hopes that minimal harm would come to either one of them._

_They were no more than five feet away when the grenade exploded. The narrow alleyway increased the pressure behind the blast, and it catapulted the men through the air. Steve landed on his back, white bursts of light exploding behind his eyes and pain making his tailbone pulse._

_He did a quick self-evaluation and found that, despite the slight hearing loss, he had all of his limbs and was fully capable of getting off the ground. Well, he was dizzy and the ground shifted under his feet, but he could stand. Bucky, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky. He was lying on the ground, back arched, blood pouring out of a wound on the left side of his body, and a migraine-inducing scream tearing out of him._

_“Son of a bitch,” Steve ground out, his vision snapping into focus as another wave of adrenaline surged through him. He dropped to his knees next to Bucky, ripped off his own belt, and fastened it to whatever was left of Bucky’s shoulder before he even registered why there was so much blood._

_Bucky was still screaming in agony, his eyes screwed shut, tears smearing through the ash on his face, and it was drawing a crowd. Steve, shaking and fearing that every single person that approached was out to kill them, went on the defense. He drew the pistol on his hip since he had no idea where his other weapon was, and started aiming it at anyone that moved._

_“This is Cap,” Steve grunted, eyes wide, pupils tight, talking into the comm on his shoulder. “Sarge has been hit. We need an emergency evac. Now!”_

Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s and it made Steve step back into the shadows of the hallway. “If it weren’t for Steve, I wouldn’t have made it out alive. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, don’t be afraid to lean on other people. Sometimes you can’t do everything yourself.”

Without wanting to hear anything more, Steve left and walked to the nearest bar. He hadn’t been there more than half an hour when Bucky dropped into the seat next to him and ordered a beer.

“Been a long time, brother,” Bucky said solemnly, tapping his beer bottle against Steve’s.

Steve made a grunt of agreement, fingers toying with the wet label on the bottle. “Didn’t think you still went.”

“It helps, man. I mean, it doesn’t make me forget everythin’ that happened, but…” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he flexed the hand of his prosthetic arm. “Fuck, I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to this thing.”

Looking out of the corner of his eye, Steve gave the metal arm a once over. “Where’d you get that one?”

“Stark Industries, believe it or not,” Bucky answered with a chuckle.

“The same Stark Industries that made the weapons we used in Afghanistan?” Steve snorted in disbelief.

Bucky turned in his seat, spreading his fingers and wiggling them back and forth. “The one and the same. Tony was taken hostage a couple years ago, I guess, and had a gigantic change of heart; started dedicating his time and research into helping veterans.”

“I’m happy for you, man,” Steve assured his friend, a tight smile on his lips.

“So, what’re you up to lately?” Bucky asked curiously.

Steve took a long pull of beer before answering. “I’m actually on the force.”

“I knew it,” Bucky laughed. “Could tell right away. What do they got you doin’?”

“I’m uh, normally I work homicides,” Steve answered after several beats.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Normally? What does that mean?” Without looking at the bartender, he gave a signal for another round.

“It’s complicated,” Steve murmured, eyes downcast, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Either you’re working homicides or not, Steve,” Bucky deadpanned. “Ain’t nothin’ complicated ‘bout that.”

The bottle that was set in front of Steve was half-drained in three swallows. “I got reassigned; I’m a bodyguard.”

Bucky laughed loud, the sound bursting out of him like a punch. His long hair fell out from behind his ears and covered his reddening face as he bent over.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny ‘bout it?” Steve ground out, anger simmering in his gut.

“You ain’t a cop, you’re a fuckin’ babysitter,” he managed to say, tears of laughter streaming down his face.

Steve gripped the bottle tight in his hand to keep from punching his friend in the face. “Least I got a job.”

Bucky sobered at that comment. “You didn’t get your fuckin’ arm blown off,  _brother_. You got no idea how hard it is to get a job in this fuckin’ country when you only got one arm.”

“I was there, Bucky,” Steve shot back. “Through all the surgeries and physical therapy, no one else showed up but me.”

“Then where you been, huh?” Bucky wanted to know. “‘Cause I know that being a ‘cop’ doesn’t take up all of your time.”

Steve ground his teeth before taking another drink. “I had another tour, which you knew about. Plus, I’ve been dealing with my own bullshit.”

“So hanging out with me, your brother, is bullshit?!” Bucky growled, rage swirling in his grey-blue eyes. “Fuck you, Rogers.”

Not willing to sit there and take Bucky’s anger any longer, Steve shoved himself out of the chair. “Goodbye, Buck.” He slapped a twenty dollar bill onto the bar.

“Whoever you’re protectin’ should be warned about your temper,” Bucky called out.

“Coulson already knows,” Steve shouted over his shoulder before pulling the door closed.

Once outside, Steve gulped at the cool air as he stormed away from the bar. It wasn’t their first fight, and it wouldn’t be their last. The two of them fought more often than they got along, it truly felt as if they were brothers instead of best friends. That didn’t mean Bucky’s words didn’t sting or didn’t ring with truth.

Steve was used to the comments from other members of the team, but they were people he hardly knew. But Bucky was different, he was his best friend, his chosen brother, and to hear him utter those same words hurt him in a way that he hadn’t felt since Sharon kicked him out of the house last year with no explanation.

He was almost to the hotel when he got a call. It was Pepper, and she needed to see him right away. Fifteen minutes later, he got out of the cab and strode into the police department. The door to Pepper’s office was open and she wasn’t alone. Special Agent Edwin Jarvis was standing at the edge of her desk, muttering something Steve couldn’t quite hear.

“Steve,” Pepper greeted him with a fake smile. “Thank you for coming in.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I, ma’am?” he asked tiredly.

Jarvis turned to eye up the officer. “Steve Rogers, heard a lot about you.”

“Agent,” Steve said gruffly. “Pardon the bluntness, but what the hell are you doing in Brooklyn?”

“Rogers,” Pepper hissed, shoving out of her seat.

Jarvis gave a huffing laugh. “It’s alright, Chief Potts. I’m the one that came here unannounced, asking for your help.”

“My help?” Steve scoffed. “What could the FBI possibly need my help with, sir?”

Before answering your question, Pepper moved across the room to shut the door. “It’s Miss Coulson, we need you to… pay close attention to her daily activities.”

“Ma’am, I already do,” he said flatly.

“More than that, Steve,” Jarvis informed him. “As you’re probably aware, her father has a bit of a reputation.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “The rumors surrounding his wealth are a bit concerning.”

“Truth be told, Phil Coulson came to our attention almost fifteen years ago,” Jarvis revealed candidly. “And in that amount of time we have not been able to make anything stick to the man. Nobody will testify and it’s making everyone in the office a bit perturbed.”

“What does Phil’s wrongdoings, whatever they may be, have to do with Y/N? Just because he’s her father -”

“That’s  _exactly_  why I’m here,” Jarvis bit out. “The bureau hasn’t been able to get near Coulson’s inner circle before now.”

Realizing exactly what Jarvis meant, Steve shook his head. “No. I won’t.”

Pepper cleared her throat, sat on the edge of her desk, and crossed her arms. “You don’t have a choice, Rogers. Either you help out the bureau, or you’re pulled from the job and put on desk duty for the next six months.”

“You can’t be serious,” Steve scoffed, his eyes drilling into Pepper’s.

“Have you ever known me to joke around?” Pepper shot back. “You’re doing this, Steve, whether you approve of it or not.”

Jarvis pulled out a phone from his pocket and handed it to Steve. “This is the only phone you’re to contact me on when you have something, and  _only_  when you have something of import. Now, since Y/N keeps her phone on her at all times and you can’t be watching over her while she’s sleeping, you’re to use this.”

Pepper extracted a briefcase from behind her desk and opened it, revealing a recording device and a set of headphones. “With your room attached to hers, it gives you the perfect access.”

“I’m not breaking into her room, ma’am,” Steve protested loudly. “And I sure as hell ain’t eavesdropping.”

Jarvis took a step closer to Steve when Pepper opened her mouth to reprimand her subordinate. “Miss Coulson is either involved with her father, or she’s been spared and has absolutely no idea what’s going on. Either way, she is the only way we can get to her father.”

When Steve didn’t say anything further, Jarvis continued. “To stress the point of how badly we require your assistance, along with Chief Potts’ previous warning, not only will you be put on six months desk duty should you continue to refuse in the investigation, you will be charged with obstruction, and serve the maximum time at Quantico. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Steve bit out, slamming the briefcase shut and ripping it off the table. “Ma’am.”

Steve stormed out of the office and yanked the door closed behind him. With pain erupting in his jaw and temples, and murder in his eyes, he left the station and hailed a cab back to the motel.

“Dad, I’m telling you that everything is fine,” you sighed into the phone.

“You haven’t gotten any threats?” Phil asked, his voice gruff from drinking whiskey and not getting much sleep.

You pushed a hand through your hair. “No, I haven’t.”

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart,” he breathed.

“Things have actually been pretty low key the last couple of days.”

“Thanks to Steve,” Phil chuckled.

You hummed unamusedly. “Sure, if that’s how you want to look at it.

“Look, I know you don’t like having a bodyguard,” he started, pushing up from his seat, no doubt getting himself another drink. “But I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I know I don’t, but I still need to know that you’re okay,” he admitted. “Look, I’ve got a meeting to go to.”

“So late?” you wanted to know. “It’s almost midnight.”

Phil gave an annoyed huff. Not at you, you hoped. “Money never sleeps, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you, dad.” You plugged your phone into the charger and dropped to your bed, chuckling at the way you bounced up and down.

It had been a really long day full of meetings, face-to-face interviews, and getting the shelter ready to open. The last thing you had wanted to talk about was Steve, let alone with your father. You loved that man to pieces, always had, always would, but there had always been something about him you didn’t trust.

What was wrong with you, not trusting your own father? You knew that he would lay down his life to protect you, to save your life; that was what a father did, after all. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel that if something debilitating were to happen - mainly the loss of Phil’s empire, everything he had worked so hard to accomplish - he wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate, in the worst way possible.

Jesus. Your mind was racing a million miles a second and your thoughts were a jumbled mess; nothing was making sense at that moment. With a resigned huff, you pushed off the bed and quickly drank a double serving of whiskey, hissing at the trail it burned down your throat and chest.

You stripped out of your clothes and turned off all the lights before slipping between the sheets. It didn’t take long to drift off, thanks mostly to the whiskey combined with the exhaustion eating at you. The last thing you thought of was Steve, and you had absolutely no idea why. Well, that wasn’t necessarily true, but you didn’t really have time to focus on that because everything went dark as you fell asleep.


	5. SNAFU

Before you knew it, a week flew by and, whether either of you liked it or not, the two of you fell into a steady rhythm.

Every morning he would knock on your door before entering. It was his second day on the job that he learned to knock when he stormed in and found you standing there, naked as the day you were born, screaming at him to, “Get the fuck out!”

Now, you couldn’t really be mad at him; it wasn’t his fault. How was he supposed to know that you loved walked around naked after showering? It wasn’t something that you shouted from the rooftops.

Steve would greet you with a tight smile and a cup of your favorite coffee before ushering you down the hall, into the elevator, through the kitchen of the hotel, and straight to the car. He wouldn’t say anything during the ride to your office or to one of the many interviews, even during slower traffic.

He would make sure your office - and bathroom and every other meeting room you would be using - was cleared before allowing you entry, then he would position himself at the same spot, stand the same way, and watch everyone with the same intensity, no matter if they were homeless or some kind soul that was delivering their donation by hand. The man was frustratingly always on duty, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Wanda, Pietro’s sister and your assistant, commented on it every day. “Doesn’t the man ever smile?”

“I think his face would crack if he did that,” you chuckled.

She continued to stare at Steve. “He’d be sexier if he smiled.”

“Wanda,” you playfully gasped.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she teased back, thickening her accent, standing straight as a board.

You narrowed your eyes and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you start.”

Before waltzing out of your office, Wanda stuck out her tongue.

Late nights were a common occurrence for you. There was hardly a time where you didn’t leave before ten, only to pour yourself a healthy serving of whiskey to warm your insides as you buried yourself in more work once Steve annoyingly cleared the rooms and left with a mumbling of, “Goodnight, ma’am.”

More often than not, you would fall asleep, files spread out on the comforter, laptop open and running. And then, the process would repeat itself the following morning.

It was early afternoon, and you were going over the list of questions about to be asked during the live interview when your temporary assistant, Natalia, came in. There had been a family emergency back in Sokovia, both Wanda and Pietro flew out the night before. You told them there was no hurry to come back, that they could take all the time they needed, their jobs would be there for them upon their return.

The red head crossed the room as her eyes roamed over Steve’s hulking frame. “The coffee shop was packed,” was her explanation for being late.

“It’s fine,” you assured her even though irritation and lack of caffeine was making you irritable and short-tempered.

Without looking up from the papers, you reached out for the coffee, but Nat was still ogling Steve, therefore not paying attention to how close the two of you were. She slammed into you and the coffee erupted between your bodies, completely drenching the champagne colored shirt you were wearing.

“What the  _fuck_?” you hollered.

Nat clapped a hand over her mouth as a laugh burst out of her. “I’m so sorry, Miss Coulson.”

“I’m due on set in five minutes,” you ground out angrily. “And I don’t have another shirt.”

Steve stepped away from the wall. “Give her your blouse, Miss Romanov.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed in disbelief. “It’ll never fit her. Can’t we dry it out?”

You weren’t sure if she meant it the way it sounded or not, but you glared at her nonetheless. “What do you expect me to do? I need something, Natalia. There’s not enough time to borrow one from wardrobe, they’re on the other end of the building.”

With a heavy sigh, Steve pulled out the comm from his ear and jacket at the same time that he shrugged out of the jacket. He loosened his dark tie, all while you and Natalia looked at him; you with a question in your eyes, and Natalia with sheer amusement and lust.

“Fresh on this morning, ma’am,” Steve said calmly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned. It wasn’t that you were unappreciative of the gesture, you just weren’t sure about the fit.

Steve was tugging the shirt from his pants and undoing the buttons. “My shirts are altered to fit over my ballistic vest so the chest-to-waist ratio should be compatible.”

With a tight smile, you took the proffered shirt and set it on the couch. You glared at Nat, the woman responsible for the whole thing. “You, fuck off and organize Rogers a new shirt.”

After rolling her eyes, she stormed off with a huff and slammed the door behind her.

“You’ll have to tuck it under your jacket, ma'am,” Steve said, putting on his suit jacket over the ballistic-vest-and-white-cotton-covered chest.

“Thank you,” you huffed in relief. When Steve didn’t move to turn around, you cleared your throat. “Some privacy, please?”

With a shake of his head, he spun on his heel, giving you what little privacy he could. “Yeah, of course.”

You quickly put on Steve’s shirt and found yourself smiling at the heat it still held, the way it smelled like him; spiced leather and fresh soap. After tucking it into your pants, you gave the all clear for Steve to turn around and pulled on the jacket you had been wearing.

“Good timing, ma’am. One minute to set.”

Maria Hill, the replacement driver for Pietro, drove the town car through the downtown traffic with ease. She didn’t try and make small talk, which made Steve feel better. No conversation meant he could focus on a safe ride back to the motel, it meant that he definitely was  _not_  thinking about the way Y/N’s silk shirt clung to her breasts and the brief flash of her flesh he saw in his peripheral as he turned around.

Nope. Definitely not. Because thinking about that - soft skin and curves - meant he was distracted, and distracted meant he wasn’t doing his job.

“I’ll have the shirt laundered tonight,” she said, rescuing Steve from his own mind.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he gruffed, unconsciously shifting in his seat.

She must have noticed it, because she asked, “Are you alright, Rogers?”

He smiled tightly as he glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Because, if you’re not, you can talk to me abou-”

A series of bullets slammed into the driver’s side window, denting the bullet-resistant glass, pulling a surprised scream from Y/N. The car swerved slightly at the impact of the bullets. Maria sped up, trying to get to a safe spot.

“Down,” Steve shouted at Y/N as he scanned the passing scenery. “Go, Miss Hill. Hurry.”

“I’m trying,” Maria ground out.

The next set of bullets shattered the glass completely, and killed Maria instantly as they pierced through her head and neck. Y/N - slouched down in the seat - was screaming and covered in blood while only the left side of Steve’s face was colored with crimson.

There was a moment where it felt as if time slowed down. Steve felt like he was back on the battlefield, the sound of heavy fire bringing a surge of memories he wasn’t prepared for. The air in his lungs felt thick, tangible, like water, smothering him from the inside. Screams from the backseat bled through slowly until it was all he heard, snapping him back to reality.

Steve gripped the wheel as the car veered out of control and urged it toward a parked car. “Ma’am! Stay down,” he hollered over the spray of bullets against the side of the car. “The bullets can pierce the windows but they can’t get through the armored metal.”

Y/N threw off her seatbelt and hunkered down onto the floor, shaking uncontrollably and a yelp or a scream bursting out of her as more bullets hit the steel at her back.

Steve’s knees were on the floor and he was bent over the seat as he spoke into the comm. “Control, Sierra Zulu 7-9. Status Zero, Prospect Ave. I repeat, Control, Sierra Zulu 7-9. Status Zero, Prospect Ave. Lavender is under heavy fire.”

“Sierra Zulu 7-9, control, received. All call signs proceed to Prospect Avenue asap,” the sound of Rhodey’s voice in his ear was calm, a stark contrast to the chaos happening outside.

“We’ve lost Maria,” Steve added grimly. “We’re sitting tight, waiting for backup.”

Rhody came back with, “Wilco.”

More bullets slammed into the metal and Y/N whimpered as her blood-smeared hands gripped the leather cushion, her nails digging in.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” Steve assured her, hands covering hers, one eye peering at her through the small gap between the seat and the car. “It’s okay. The bullets can’t get through the armor plating. It’s okay.”

She was shivering and panting, probably going into shock. At the rate things were going, Steve wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

“Control, 7-9 Sierra Zulu,” he ground out.

It was Rhodey again. “Go ahead, 7-9.”

“We need armed support and air ops to the scene as operational priority,” Steve told the man on the other end, wincing as more bullets hit the car.

“Task force commander is deploying to the scene,” Rhodey informed him. “Area being cordoned off and unarmed held back. armored reconnaissance vehicles en route, ETA two minutes.”

Steve gave Y/N’s hand a squeeze. “Two minutes, ma'am. We sit tight. You’re going to be fine.”

More bullets, louder than before, pulling more screams from Y/N. She was wincing and jumping, the white around her eyes becoming more visible.

“You’re doing really well, ma'am,” he told her calmly. “You’re doing great.”

 _Jesus Christ. Does he have a gatling gun up there?_  As soon as that thought entered his mind, more bullets sprayed against the car, rocking it with a creak, Y/N screamed again, her voice shattering with the intensity of it.

“It’s okay, ma’am. It’s okay.” Steve licked his chapped lips as he desperately looked around.

He reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror in the hopes that he could see where the heavy fire was coming from. When he couldn’t see anything but the road behind him, he grunted in irritation. The only way he could really see anything was from outside the vehicle.

_Goddamn it._

Y/N let out a keening sound as he climbed over Maria and opened the door. “No, please no.”

“It’s okay, ma’am,” Steve called out over the gunfire. “It’s all right.”

He dropped down to the pavement and pulled Maria’s lifeless body out of the car, leaving it sprawled on the sidewalk. Before he closed the door, he peered into Y/N’s panic-filled eyes. “Stay down, ma’am.”

Gunfire erupted once again as he closed the door, and Y/N let out an ear-piercing scream that covered Steve in goosebumps. He crept along the side of the car and dug out his cellphone. By the trunk, he turned on the front-facing camera and held it up, snapping a picture as more bullets slammed into the car.

His hands shook as he zoomed in on the picture, moving it around until he found what he was looking for; a burst of color around the muzzle. The shooter was on the roof of an apartment building to the south.

With the phone in his pocket and a shuddering breath pulled in, Steve called out to Rhodey. “Control, Sierra Zulu 7-9.”

“Go ahead, 7-9.”

“Shooter is located on the roof of Pascoe House, one thousand feet south of current location. Single shooter only,” was Steve’s updated information.

“Received, 7-9,” was all Rhodey said.

Steve grunted in disapproval. “Where are those armored vehicles?”

“ETA two minutes.”

“You already said two minutes,” Steve growled, frustration fueling the anger in his belly.

He opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, Y/N’s surprised yelp greeting him. “Ma'am, I need to get you to safety.”

She was gripping the seat in front of her, keening and shaking, wide eyes flicking around wildly.

“Ma'am, this is what I do, trust me.” Steve shifted the car into reverse and adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see where he was going.

“4-7, 7-9, back-to-back on two,” he bellowed into the com.

“Go ahead, 7-9.”

“We’re sitting ducks here. Lavender on the move,” was the last thing Steve said to Rhodey. “Here we go ma’am.” He pushed on the gas and sent the car speeding backwards, narrowly avoiding the parked cars.

“Stay down, ma’am.” Bullets sprayed against the car and rear window, shattering it, sending glass on the seat and into Y/N’s hair.

“You’re doing great, ma’am.” Despite the screaming and shaking, she was doing really well. Steve had seen men and women in the war react far worse than Y/N was at the moment.

He kept driving the car, eyes pinned to the rearview mirror. Y/N started sobbing and trying to curl in on herself when bullets pounded into the roof. “The roof armour will protect us, ma'am.”

“Soon, he won’t have a line of sight,” he mumbled to himself. Bullets hit the hood and headlights as Steve turned the wheel. He shifted into drive and pulled into the parking garage.

At that moment, three unmarked squads and an ambulance pulled up. “We’re safe now, ma'am. Hold tight. Don’t move, ma'am. You’ll be fine.”

Steve jumped out of the car and she screamed in protest, her hands shooting out to grab him. “Take care of Lavender,” he instructed Sam Wilson, one of the other members of the team.

“Cap,” Sam said with a nod, handing Steve an AR-15.

Steve strode into the apartment building as he pulled out his badge and tucked it into the front pocket of his suit jacket. “Armed police!” he announced himself. “Get down, stay down! Remain calm. I need access to the roof.”

People hit the floor with surprised shouts at the sight of Steve jogging toward them, weapon raised, finger ready to squeeze the trigger at a moment’s notice. “Stay down! Remain calm. Officers will be arriving.”

“This way,” One of the security guards instructed as he approached Steve and showed him to the elevators, riding with him to the highest floor.

When the two men emerged, Steve ordered that the security guard show him to the roof.

The older man pointed to a door before opening it. “Though there, and up.”

Steve took the stairs three at a time, gun raised, eyes scanning every inch of the path he was taking. He slowed down when the space before him opened up. There was a platform made out of metal grating above his head, construction equipment scattered throughout the open area, and six steps that lead to the roof.

Heavy footsteps hit the steel above him and his heart jumped into his throat. Pulling in a deep breath, Steve trained his gun on the assailant and tracked him as he walked. As soon as a set of work boots cleared the last step, Steve called out, “Armed police!”

The man hung his head, hiding his face. He set the large black gun case onto the floor and shook his head.

“It’s over,” Steve said in a huff. “It’s over.”

Steve’s stomach dropped when the assailant muttered, “For me.”

_Shit, no. Not him._

Bucky raised his head and stared hard at his friend. “Not for you. You can finish the job.”

“Job?” Steve choked out. “What job?”

“Somebody’s got to stop Coulson. And the only way to do that is through Y/N.”

Steve was shaking his head. “That doesn’t make sense, Buck.”

“I’m fucked,” Bucky scoffed as he pulled out a pistol from behind his back.

“No, Bucky. Don’t,” Steve said thickly.

Bucky pulled back the hammer and pressed the barrel under his jawline. “Someone’s got to stop Coulson. Get it done, Stevie.”

“Don’t!” Steve shouted, but it was too late. Bucky pulled the trigger and dropped to the ground.

The sight of Bucky’s lifeless body lying in a growing pool of his own blood made Steve’s stomach roll and pitch. He bent at the waist, gun at his side, dangling from his fingers, and pulled in shuddering breaths until the nausea and tears passed.

Gritting his teeth and squaring his shoulders, he stood and spoke into the comm. “Area secure.”

You were sitting on the loveseat, hunched over, elbows on your legs, a glass of whiskey in your hands. Every inch of you was cold and shaking.

“You’re in shock,” an EMT had told you as a blanket was draped around your shoulders, pity flooding his eyes.

They wanted to take you to the hospital, but you argued with them until it felt as if you were going to pass out. The only reason you were back at the hotel was because your father had rushed over, swept you into his arms, and had you in the backseat of his car.

Steve came out of the apartment building almost an hour later, ducked into the car, and instructed the driver to go, not saying a word the entire ride back. Even standing there, in your hotel room, he remained standing, his expression stoic and cool.

Once inside your room, the first thing you did was run into the bathroom and rip off your clothes. You threw them into the trash and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. You stood under the stream of water, scrubbing yourself almost raw, refusing to look down as crimson water swirled around your feet.

After changing into a pair of sweats and t-shirt, you poured yourself a drink and sat down on the loveseat. The silence was almost deafening, throbbing in your ears until you couldn’t take it.

“Why were the police held back?” you blurted out.

Steve cleared his throat before answering. “It wasn’t safe for unarmed officers to go in.”

“No, I don’t mean them,” you groaned heavily. “The armored vehicles.”

“We were under attack, ma’am. You, me, members of the public,” he tried explaining further.

You shot off the couch after downing the rest of your drink. With shaking hands, you refilled it, tears threatening to fall. “Maria was blown apart.” The glass slipped from your grip and hit one of the other glasses, making you jump.

Steve was at your side, close enough that the lapels of his jacket brushed against you as he straightened the glasses. “Ma'am, are all right?”

You clenched your jaw painfully. “Just answer the question, please, Steve.”

“I can’t imagine for a moment the armored response vehicles were being held back without good reason,” was his soft reply. “First priority is preservation of life.”

“I was being shot at,” you sputtered, wiping angrily at the tears on your face. “ _We_  were being shot at.”

Steve’s hand drifted over yours, a breadth away from actual contact. “Ma’am, why don’t you sit down and let me take care of this?”

You looked at him through your lashes as your fingers flexed, skimming the underside of his. The breath caught in your throat at the way he was looking at you; pupils expanding, flicking over your features, settling on your lips. You leaned into him and pulled in a deep breath through your nose. God, he smelled amazing.

“I’m not the Queen, Steve,” you exhaled, the air thickening in the small space between you. “You’re allowed to touch me.”

Steve’s eyes flashed as he watched you tentatively raise your face, brushing your nose along his jaw and chin, your hand turning over in his, nails catching on the callouses. A shudder ran through and settled deep in your gut at the mere thought of his rough touch on your skin.

You half-expected him to pull away, to storm out the door and demand to be removed from duty. So, when he let out a stuttering breath as your lips smeared across his, you seized the moment and, using one of his lapels for leverage, kissed him, hard, tongue probing between his lips.

With a moan trapped in the back of his throat, Steve wrapped an arm around your waist and hauled you off the floor. You curled your legs around him, squeezing him with your thighs as Steve pressed you to the wall, his feet spread for leverage. He dominated the kiss and your senses, practically smothering you with his hulking frame.

You shoved off his jacket and went to work on the straps of his ballistics vest as he bit and licked down your neck and jaw, pulling away just long enough to rip the vest over his head, followed by the cotton undershirt. His skin was hot under your touch, muscles twitching and rolling with every move he made. You raked your nails through his hair, tugging on the short strands, squeezing the back of his neck and shoulders.

Christ, the man’s shoulder-to-waist ratio was driving you insane.

Steve was kissing you feverishly, shoving his hands under your shirt and dragging his calloused fingers along your skin before cupping your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over your nipples, the flesh tightening at his touch. Your back curved off the wall, a whine bubbling against his tongue. He ripped off your shirt, his pupils all but exploding at the sight of you half-naked and whining for his touch.

With a hand secured at the small of your back, Steve resumed kissing you and carried you into the bedroom. He laid you on the bed, his hips rolling, his fingers digging bruises into your sides and breasts as he kissed and bit and licked his way down your body, tugging off the sweatpants you were wearing.

“Legs open,” he instructed darkly, hands on your knees.

You obliged, even going so far as to reach down and hook your hands behind your knees, spreading yourself wide open, presenting yourself like an all-Steve-could-eat buffet. A fresh wave of lust surged through at the sight of his cock growing and twitching behind the slacks he was wearing.

Steve ran his nose along your inner thigh and made a lewd, yet appreciative sound when he buried his nose in your short curls and breathed you in. His calloused touch was like sandpaper, opening you up, pressing into you, tongue and teeth working on your clit.

With your feet on his shoulders, you grabbed your breasts, squeezing them, tugging on the nipples, moaning heavily at the zing of pain it added to the immense pleasure that was building. He had two fingers inside of you, three knuckles deep, curling and twisting them, seeking out the spots that were most sensitive, the ones the would send you reeling.

You came with a strangled gasp of his name, thighs shaking, pressing against his head. He didn’t try and stop you, rather it seemed to spurn him on. He worked harder, stroking you faster, rougher, as if you were the very thing that could satisfy his craving.

Steve sat back, fingers deep in your pussy, and wiped your cum from his face, a salacious smirk tugging at his lips. With one hand, he worked open his pants, stepping out of them after they slid down his legs. You could do nothing but lay there, panting, watching as he pushed down his boxer briefs, gripping his cock with fingers that were dripping with your slick.

The air caught in your lungs at the sight of him; long, thick, and pre-cum weeping from the tip as he languidly stroked himself, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. You pushed up to your elbow, opened the drawer on the nightstand, and snagged a condom, ripping it open before handing it to Steve. You would have offered to put it on for him, but your legs felt like jelly and you didn’t trust them to support you.

After rolling the condom down his impressive length, Steve settled himself between your legs, the underside of his cock rubbing deliciously against your pussy as he kissed you. As the kiss grew heated, he reached down and gripped himself, pulling his hips back just far enough that on the next roll, he would be inside of you.

You felt every ridge, every pulsing vein; it was like velvet stretched taut over rock solid muscle, dragging gloriously against your walls, and it was breathtaking. Finally, he was buried to the root and watching you with dark eyes as your body struggled to accept him. Large hands grabbed your hips and rolled them, pulling a drawn-out moan from deep within you. You would have loved to take your time, to feel every-fucking-thing, but Steve had a different plan.

You scraped your nails down his back, marking him, making him hiss and arch. You’d had sex before, been fucked so many different ways you’d lost count, but never had you been fucked so goddamn good that you had forgotten what day of the week it was. And then Steve’s thick cock was dragging in and out of you, stretching your walls, that delicious burn taking your breath away, and making your eyes cross.

It was all grunts and groans, words of encouragement and praise that got lost amidst the wet slap of skin on skin. It was getting to be too much, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, but in a fucking good way; it only drew the coil tighter.

He pounded into you relentlessly, his balls slapping your ass echoing the incessant squeaking of bedsprings, the headboard thump-thumping against the wall, and the way you were saying his name, telling him to fuck you, “harder and faster,” that you were just about there, you just needed…

Steve slid a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies and rubbed your clit with his calloused thumb. The blunt edge of his nail scraped over the throbbing bundle of nerves, instantly snapping the coil painfully, but in a never-want-it-to-end kind of way. You came with a shattered cry, your vision and hearing completely taken over by everything having to do with Steve and his cock and your pussy clamping onto him so tight that he snarled.

It was sinful, the way he swore and ground out your name. The pulse and twitch of his cock as he somehow buried himself deeper just as he came sent an aftershock through you that made your already overstimulated pussy constrict again. Steve stilled for a moment, grunting as if he’d been hit in the gut, his hips jerking once, twice, three times until he blew out a bone-shuddering breath and dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

You were so lost in euphoria that you didn’t feel Steve push off of you and the bed. When the fog began to life, you felt a warm cloth between your legs. You sighed blissfully and reached down for his hand, but just as your nails skimmed his fingers, he pulled away.

“Get some rest, ma’am. You’ve had a long day,” Steve gruffed. He bent down and grabbed his clothes before exiting the room, undoubtedly gathering his shirt, vest, and jacket.

You heard him get dressed as you shoved off the bed, snagging your robe from the chair as you hurried out of the room. “Steve, you don’t have to go.”

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, making it look presentable to anyone else. “Yes, I do, ma’am.”

Steve was right, you knew that. If he didn’t emerge from your room at some point, rumors would start swirling that there was something more going on than a professional relationship. Yeah, okay, Steve had just fucked your brains out, but it wasn’t like you weren’t a grown ass woman that could make up her own mind and fuck who she wanted.

You gave a curt nod and moved to the table where your previously-poured glass of whiskey sat. While you drained it, Steve opened the door and left, closing the door quietly behind him. You heard him tell the agents outside that you were finally resting and shouldn’t be disturbed.

The whiskey was still warming your chest and belly when you went into your room, standing by the door that connected your rooms. You tracked Steve’s heavy footsteps as he entered his hotel room, walked into the bedroom, and sat on the bed. You could hear him sigh and mumble something unintelligible, probably as he ran a hand over his face.

You were about to turn away when his gruff voice stopped you cold. “Sharon, I… I need to talk to you.”


End file.
